Losers on both sides

John Howard should have known better. After 30 years in Parliament, nearly all of them in senior ranks, the Prime Minister's cautiousness has mostly served him well. As a rule, he's not given to showing himself vulnerable to opponents and interviewers by saying something he would later regret. That's how he wants Mark Latham to be seen - as a shoot-from-the-lip Opposition Leader plagued by inconsistency, ill-considered rushed policy and a willingness to tell porkies in Parliament.

Mr Howard, meanwhile, needed only to abide by the political version of the barrister's golden rule. If you never ask a question to which the answer is not already known, you never make an allegation that can easily be disproved. Instead, Mr Howard abandoned his usual sure-footedness and, in the process, covered himself in the very paint he was seeking to splash over Mr Latham. Neither leader emerged from Wednesday's parliamentary stoush - extraordinary for its venom, twists and duration - with any claim to moral superiority.

It seems each at least extended the truth. Mr Howard claimed to know Mr Latham had lied about a shadow cabinet undertaking to withdraw troops from Iraq, and Mr Latham persisted with his claim he had had "lengthy" briefings on the situation in Iraq from the Defence Department and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade before he committed a Labor government to bringing back the troops by Christmas.

The evidence against Mr Latham is inconclusive but not easily dismissed. Mr Latham relies on the fuzziness surrounding the definition of lengthy and the implied threat that, pushed too far, he would reveal more of the confidential briefings given to him by security services than the Government would be comfortable with.

Mr Howard went on at length about Mr Latham being generally untrustworthy because the Opposition Leader had invented the claim that Labor frontbenchers had committed to troop withdrawals from Iraq a year before Mr Latham seemed to surprise colleagues by announcing it as Labor policy. Mr Howard took an uncharacteristic gamble that he was either right or, at least, he could not be proved wrong. However, Mr Latham did just that and Mr Howard's ploy was laid bare.

But it wasn't Mr Howard's only gamble. It was not even the most dangerous. Mr Howard drew in intelligence chiefs so he could thrash Mr Latham with letters he had solicited from them denying substantive briefings on Iraq. But intelligence services got to be portrayed as doing the political bidding of the Government. That generates unease about the line separating public and political interests. Such tactics undermine people's faith in security systems that are supposed to protect them. They're not there to serve as extensions to political partisanship or to breach confidentiality every time it suits the interests of ministerial masters.

This week opened new and dangerous territory. The best course is for politicians on both sides to withdraw quietly, shut the gate behind them and allow the intelligence services to get on with real challenges.

A show finding its feet again

When the Agricultural Society of NSW formed in 1822, its aim was to improve "the quality of Australia's primary production by means of contests and competitions". The first show, held the next year at Parramatta, interpreted that aim broadly.

William Bull was judged to be the best servant. The show moved to what became known as Prince Alfred Park, near Central, in 1869, then to Moore Park in 1882. Much of the modern show first appeared over the next two decades. A cheese was entered for judging, but only one, so it was apparently cut in half so there could be a winner in the section. Sideshows appeared, as did fireworks, con men, night openings, fruit displays, showbags, rides, woodchopping and doilies. Attendance reached 1 million in 1938, and 1.23 million in 1947. The only bigger crowd since was 1.26 million in 1998, the first year at the new site of Homebush Bay.

The early years at Homebush Bay engendered mixed feelings. There was more room, the show was closer to the centre of Sydney, and having the train made a difference. But there was too little shade, too few seats and too few bubblers. It felt hot, dry and too privatised for a public space. Nostalgia fuelled disquiet, too. But those early doubts are fading - there are more water, more seats and the trees are growing. It's getting familiar, as the show should be. And people are coming from further afield.

The show, which opens today, is many things to many people. For some it's the competition: the apex for apiarists, the pinnacle of patchwork, the heights for Herefords, the acme for alpacas, the bees' knees of beeswax, the crown of ceramics, the zenith of zinnias. For others, it's all about the showbags, or the Country Women's Association tearoom, or the Cattleman's Bar, or the cake decorating, or the littlies with mobile numbers tattooed on forearms, or the funny hats, or the animal nursery, or even the Dagwood dogs. But for most, the animal pavilions are still the main attraction.

For country folk, it's the chance to compare, to catch up, to get away, to learn from friends and rivals. For city folk, it's a chance to see where so much of what they eat and drink and wear comes from and, more importantly, to reforge a link with an Australia many hold dear.